Edge of War

think of was that they’d been shot down.

But no one was firing at them. They were in the States, safe, at least for now. The war was literally half a world away.

“Have a good dream?” asked Mara.

“Was I dreaming?”

“I guess.” She laughed. “You were mumbling something, and laughing.”

“Laughing?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.” Josh couldn’t imagine what he’d been dreaming. All of his thoughts were dark, very, very dark.

“Where’s M??” said Josh, seeing her seat empty.

“Behind you, coloring,” said Mara. “The sergeant had some markers.”

Josh leaned around the seat. M? was making pictures on a yellow pad. They looked like black, violent scribbles. She was very intent on what she was doing.

“We’re landing?” Josh asked Mara.

“Landing.”

The jet taxied to the far end of the base. It was night, and a foglike humidity clung to the runway, the lights’ yellow and white beams struggling against the moisture. Out the window, Josh saw a pair of F-22 fighters sitting at the edge of the parking area, their canopies open, security officers standing at attention.

The jet pulled to a stop just beyond a pair of black MH-6 helicopters. The sergeant who’d shepherded them opened the door, unfolding the ladder to the ground.

“Sir, it’s been an honor having you,” he told Josh.

Josh mumbled his thanks.

“Please watch your step, okay? Careful with that little one. Ma’am, a real pleasure. Thank you for your service.”

Mara caught Josh’s elbow from behind as he stepped away from the plane.

“That’s our car,” she told him.

A Lincoln Town Car stood at the edge of the cement apron. The rear door opened. A short, middle-aged man got out. He looked a bit like an accountant, in a dark suit and rumpled white shirt. “Josh?”

“You’re Peter.”

“I told you I’d get you home,” said Lucas. He was beaming, a proud father greeting the prodigal son.

His handshake was a little limp, Josh thought.

“And you must be M?,” said Peter, stooping down. “Xin chao. How are you?”

He reeled off some Vietnamese. M? pressed closer to Josh.

“We’re going to be great friends,” Lucas said, rising. “I have some nurses and a doctor who will take really good care of you.”

“Child psychologist?” asked Josh.

“The best.” Lucas turned to Mara. “You! How the hell are you?”

They hugged. Mara pecked him on the cheek. It was almost like a family reunion.

“You did good, Mara. Damn good.” Lucas shooed them into the car. “Come on, we have an appointment to keep and we’re a little late.”

“Where are we going?” Mara asked.

“White House. President wants to talk to you right away. As in, now.”

* * *

When Josh McArthur was in seventh grade, his school had arranged a visit to Washington, D.C. The highlight of the trip — if one didn’t count the scandalous game of strip spin the bottle after hours at the hotel — was a visit to the White House. Josh wasn’t one of the six or seven kids who’d gotten to shake the president’s hand when they visited the Oval Office, but the memory of standing around the room was still vivid.

And here he was now, an adult, an important person, waiting in the back of the limo as it whipped up the driveway toward the West Wing.

“Ready?” Lucas asked as the car came to a stop in the circle below the portico entrance to the building. Two limos, with only their drivers inside, were blocking the drive in front of the doorway.

“I could use a cup of coffee,” said Mara.

A uniformed Marine Corps guard opened the door. Josh stepped out, then reached back and helped M?. The night was warm, nearly as hot as Vietnam and almost as sticky. A swarm of small flies buzzed nearby.

“Damn gnats,” said Lucas. “Damn things are everywhere.”

Mycetophilidae. One of the indicators of extreme climate change — an increase in fungi in the environment, generally caused by increased dampness, meant there was more food for them. The bugs’ diversity — there were more than three thousand described species — meant that they could rapidly adapt to pesticides.

Josh had been involved in a study examining the genus as an undergrad.

And there was a great deal of mold in the air — he struggled to hold hack a sneeze.

M? had no idea what was going on. She held Josh’s hand tightly as they walked. Then she said something to Mara in Vietnamese.

“She’s hungry,” Mara told Lucas.

“We’ll get some food in a minute.”

“Mr. Lucas, good to see you, sir,” said a young man in a black suit. He had a clipboard in his hand. “You’re Mr. MacArthur?”

“Yeah,” said Josh, trying to keep from sneezing.

“Really, really good to meet you, sir. After all you’ve been through.”

“Uh-huh.” Josh turned and sneezed.

“Ms. Duncan?”

“That’s me.”

“Thank you for your service, ma’am. And this is…?”

“M?,” said Mara. “We don’t know what her other name is.”

“Follow me, please.”

Josh sneezed a few more times. The aide raised his clipboard and waved them toward the doors. Josh had imagined there would be a crowd of reporters, even though it was night, but the only people he saw were the Marines and uniformed Secret Service agents prowling nearby. He, Mara, Lucas, and M? went through a metal detector at the door, then followed the aide up the stairs to a small room used as a waiting area.

“Can I get anyone anything?” asked the aide.

“Can you get something for the kid?” asked Lucas.

“Sure. What would she eat?”

“Peanut butter and jelly?” said Josh.

“I don’t think she knows what that is,” said Mara.

“I don’t know what I can find in the cafeteria this late,” said the aide. “But I’ll look for something. What else?”

“Coffee,” said Mara. “With a little milk. No sugar.”

“Me, too,” said Lucas.

Josh passed.

“Sneezing done?” asked Lucas.

“Probably have another round, adjusting to the AC,” said Josh. “Allergies.”

“Vietnam didn’t help, huh?”

“No.”

Josh felt some of the excitement draining from him. He was tired, jet-lagged; he wished he could go to sleep.

The door opened. A bald man with a round face leaned inside. “Peter, you ready?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” said Lucas, jumping to his feet.

“You’re MacArthur, right?” said the bald man. He stuck out his hand. He was wearing a blue blazer over